


I Don't Do Do-Overs

by thecryoftheseagulls



Series: Caylina Shepard [2]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alcohol, Colonist (Mass Effect), F/M, One Night Stands, Sole Survivor (Mass Effect)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 01:55:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2370149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecryoftheseagulls/pseuds/thecryoftheseagulls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Formally titled 'bad decisions one night stand fic.' Pre-ME1, Caylina Shepard is on her first shore leave since recovering from Akuze. She decides to get drunk and pick up a date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Do Do-Overs

It’s been months now, since Akuze. Shepard is all healed up and back on active duty.

She’s had a medal pinned to her chest, sat through more memorial services than she ever thought possible. Sure, there was a mass memorial, but then there were all those other little memorials, and she, the ‘sole survivor’ blazened across every newsvid, how could she refuse what little solace she could offer to the families of the other Marines? Never mind that the screams and the blood and the sand were always in the back of her mind. She went anyways, put on a bold face, fronted the stoic Commander like so much death was all in a day’s work. And it was, wasn’t it? She was a soldier, and a damn good one, and she’d found herself beat up and semi-conscious in an Alliance shuttle before, the only one to make it out alive. She was the woman who refused to die. Her Alliance-assigned therapist says she has survivor’s guilt, first from Mindoir, now from Akuze, but Shepard thinks privately that she just doesn’t give a damn anymore. Soldiers die. One day, it’ll be her turn. Her luck will finally run out and she’ll be dead just like every other son of a bitch in the galaxy

Her first shore leave, she finds herself on the Citadel, alone, in some dingy out of the way bar down in the wards. It’s a bit early in the afternoon to get drunk, but Shepard doesn’t care. She slouches over the bar and ignores the only other patrons in the place, a group of Turians in the far corner.

Shepard loses track of the time after the first few shots of something the bartender vaguely refers to as asari hard liquor. It’s probably a few hours later though when several humans show up. She casts a glance over them, notes the Alliance uniforms and the good-looking blonde one, a Corporal. She goes back to her drink and waits for the inevitable shout-out, the ‘hey, aren’t you -’

“- that Marine? The one that survived those maws on Akuze? Commander Shepard, right?” The blonde’s dopey-looking ginger friend asks after ordering a round of beers from the bartender.

Shepard lets out a long breath and turns, leaning one elbow on the bar. The ginger has the usual short-cropped hair and big brown puppy eyes. _Young_ , Shepard thinks. _And newly enlisted_. “Who’s asking?” she says a moment later, quirking an eyebrow.

“Oh! Oh, Private Campbell, ma’am.” The soldier doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, going for a salute on reflex and abandoning it halfway in favor of holding out his hand for Shepard to shake. She doesn’t bite.

“I look like I’m on duty to you, Private?” She gives him a faint scowl. _Tougher soldiers than him have been cowed by that look; we’ll see what he does._

Campbell twitches, draws his hands back towards his body and rubs them together awkwardly. “N-no ma’am. Sorry, it’s just an honor to meet you. Mindy said you were Commander Shepard, but I didn’t believe her…” he glances back to the rest of his group, who are doing a terrible job of pretending they’re not watching.

Shepard has been mostly annoyed by the awed fans she’s been meeting lately, but she finds herself more amused than otherwise tonight. Maybe she’s drunk. Maybe she just likes giving fumbling young Privates a hard time. She tosses back a shot and says, “You got a first name, Campbell?”

“Uh yes,” he gives a nervous laugh. “It’s Tucker. Tucker Campbell, ma’am.” The bartender brings over Campbell’s beers and he shoots a deer-in-the-headlights sort of look between the drinks, his group, and Shepard. She lets him stew until finally the blonde tries to wave him over and Campbell twitches again. “Ah. You um, wanna join us for some drinks?”

“Well, _Tuck_ ,” Shepard drawls. “If you’re gonna introduce me to your friends, I just might.”

***  
There are four of them. The hot blonde turns out to be the one Campbell earlier referred to as Mindy, and Shepard either ignores the other two or simply forgets their names by morning. She doesn’t overthink it.

Mindy has dimples, chin-length wavy hair, and grey-blue eyes. She doesn’t seem nearly as starstruck as her drinking companions, to her credit.

“So you’re the one who recognized me, according to Tuck here.” Shepard says after the introductions. She slings her arm over the back of the booth behind Mindy’s head, and studies the other woman with a complete lack of subtlety.

“That’s me,” Mindy says, meeting Shepard’s gaze evenly. “Hard not to – you _have_ been getting a lot of press lately.”

“Tell me about it,” Shepard says.

There is a pause while the other three sit awkwardly and then Mindy’s expression softens. “Must be rough, being reminded of what happened everywhere you go.”

Shepard tips her head to the side and licks her lips.

“You get to the point where you’ve said all there is to be said.” Shepard says.

“So, what brings you to the Citadel?” one of the nameless ones asks.

“Shore leave,” Shepard says, not taking her eyes off Mindy.

“Guess you probably came out for a bit of quiet drinking,” Campbell says, laughing too loudly.

“Drinking, yes. Doesn’t necessarily have to be quiet, though.” Shepard tears her gaze away and looks to Campbell instead. _Too intense, Shep. Try not to come across like the survivor who no longer has all her gears in motion, will you._

“Just so long as there’s not much thinking involved,” Mindy interjects. Her gaze is sharp, says _I see through you_ , says _You’re out here to drown out their screams in liquor and loud music and maybe even the touch of skin on skin, so that for one night, at least one night, you won’t have to remember the dead._

Shepard doesn’t bother denying it. “I’ll drink to _that_ ,” she says, with a half-cocked grin, and raises her glass. Campbell and the silent pair comply with laughs and open grins, but Mindy just sits there, pursing her lips like she _fucking knows_ , and Shepard isn’t sure whether the expression of disapproval is hot or if this Mindy person is just a killjoy. 

The bar grows more crowded by the minute, and Shepard loses herself in the noise and the shuffles of bodies, the jokes and laughter of these other soldiers. Mindy doesn’t say much at first – she watches her friends and does a good job of ignoring the ostentatiously sultry glances Shepard sends her way. When the drinks are gone, Shepard buys them all a round of something a little stronger than beer. On her way back to the table, she studies the way the blue backlighting of the place creates an interesting pattern of light and shadow on the Corporal’s face. _She could almost be an asari, for a second there,_ Shepard thinks, and then laughs aloud. _Yeah, you wish, Shep. You wish._

“Shepard!” one of her tablemates crows. “You’re the best, you know that?” She sets the drinks down and shakes her head slightly.

“Well, none of you were going to get anywhere with those kind of drinks. Thought I’d speed things along a little, see if we can’t shake this up.” Shepard grins and raises her glass. “Bartender tells me this is batarian ale, right here.” She tosses back half the glass. “I’ve some experience with those motherfuckers and I can tell you straight, the only thing those bastards are good for besides dying is making some damn fine ale.”

Campbell puts on a dopey grin and tries to mimic Shepard, although the motion becomes less of a ‘throwing back’ action and more of a ‘large gulp with the head tilted at a vertical angle.” He chokes. Shepard puts a hand on her stomach and nearly falls over laughing (conveniently in Mindy’s direction, of course).

“My god, Shepard,” Campbell sputters (when he can speak again). “That stuff is _strong_.” Shepard gives a little half-shrug and puts on a ‘well, if you say so’ expression. Campbell reaches for his glass again with less-than-steady hands, and Shepard shoots a grin in Mindy’s direction. The other woman meets her gaze with a wry smile, and Shepard goes back to her drink, thinking smugly, _Ah, there it is. Progress._

***

It takes a lot to get Shepard more than buzzed, but by this point she’s pretty sure she’s drunk. Possibly. She finds herself somehow on the dance floor with Campbell, who is most definitely drunk.

Campbell puts both his hands on her hips and Shepard tips her head. _Mm. You know, up close he isn’t really that bad. Kind of cute, in a ginger baby sort of way_ , she thinks. She laces her hands behind his neck and studies him in the strobing light, noticing the five o’clock shadow around only his mouth. _Yeah, probably can’t even grow a full beard_. She grins.

“What?” Campbell asks, bringing his mouth close to her ear. “What’re you smilin’ about so big, Shepperd?’

This close, she can smell the clean tang of his cologne. She runs her hands down his arms.

“Nothing.” Shepard says. He raises a brow, looking unconvinced, and she notices the way his hands don’t stray from her hips. He’s already stepped on her feet a few times, but even with the clear drunken lack of coordination he’s managed to keep a minimum of six inches from her at all times, his hands never moving. She smirks. “You’re kind of cute for a Private, you know,” she murmurs, sliding her right hand under the hem of his shirt.

Campbell almost trips over his feet at the unexpected contact and swallows visibly as he regains himself.

“For a Private?” he says, trying to school his expression into nonchalance and only succeeding in a wide-eyed stare. 

“Mm,” Shepard says. She puts her free hand on his chest and leans in closer to him. He stops dancing for a second, stops breathing basically, and Shepard is about to move in for the kill when Mindy’s voice interrupts her.

“Mind if I cut in here, Tucker?”

The man looks to Mindy and nods emphatically, after a pause.

“Sure…sure thing, Mindy. Don’t mind me.” He steps aside, and Mindy takes his place smoothly, stepping in close.

They dance together for a bit without any actual contact, until Mindy says,

“You switch focus quickly, Shepard.”

Shepard considers being offended for about one second before she says, “Maybe I’m just easy to persuade.”

The other woman laughs, swaying her hips to the beat, and gives Shepard an appraising look.

“Well, you’re a woman who knows what she wants, I’ll give you that.”

“And what is it you want, Mindy?” Shepard asks, her blue eyes sharp. She shifts closer, says, “’Cause I’ve got the night free, you know.”

Mindy snorts. “Subtle, Commander.”

Shepard shrugs and grins. “I’m a Marine, Corporal, not a politician. Only thing I’m subtle with is a sniper rifle.”

“Yes, I’ve observed as much,” Mindy says wryly. She tucks some blonde hair behind an ear, and Shepard is distracted by the now-clear sightline to the other woman’s perfect jawline and slender neck. She inhales and makes a move to brush her fingers across the inside of Mindy’s wrist.

“So what’s it going to be then?” Shepard asks, pitching her voice low and sensuous.

Mindy catches Shepard’s hand and tangles their fingers together.

“You’re a lovely woman, Commander,” she says after a moment. “And frankly I’m flattered by your interest in me, but I don’t do casual one night stands, which is obviously what you want. Not that I blame you. But it’s not my thing.” She lets go.

Shepard steps back slightly, with the smallest of frowns.

“Fair enough,” Shepard says.

Mindy puts a hand on Shepard’s cheek and says, “But I’d go for Tucker, if I were you. He won’t mind.” She smiles, and Shepard huffs slightly.

“Consolation prizes, honey, have never been _my_ thing,” Shepard says.

“You’re a shitty liar, Shepard,” Mindy returns. She leans up and pecks Shepard lightly on the lips. “It was good to meet you, Commander.”

With that, she walks away, leaving Shepard alone on the dance floor. 

***

Shepard is at the bar with another drink when Campbell comes up by her shoulder.

“Hey, Shepard, so Mindy says she’s heading out for the night and it looks like everyone else is going too…”

She glances back at the booth to see Mindy collecting her bag and walking towards the exit. The other two come over, offering ‘it was nice to meet you’s and handshakes which Shepard ignores before they get the hint and leave. Campbell lingers.

“So, um…” he says when they’re alone, his voice trailing off as if he didn’t actually have a plan for finishing that sentence. Shepard downs the rest of the drink and turns to Campbell, when she feels a hand on her backside.

“Well hello beautiful. Buy you a drink?” A gravelly voice sounds in her ear.

Shepard grits her teeth and reaches around to grab said hand and flip its owner onto his ass.

“No, actually, you can’t, asshole. Touch me again and I’ll break your arm.”

The man on his floor puts his hands up placatingly. When Shepard turns her back on him, he curses at her, but she ignores him.

“What do you say we get out of here, Tuck?” she says. Campbell looks between Shepard and the other man with wide eyes for a beat and then nods vigorously.

“Sure…sure thing, Shepard.”

They go back to his place, because Shepard has shitty temporary lodgings and because (this is the reason she doesn’t tell him) she doesn’t like the lack of control she feels when someone else is in her space. Easier to leave than to kick someone out.

“So, um, make yourself at home,” Campbell says as he shuts the door behind them. He’s got a pretty nice apartment, all things considered. It’s a small studio, with the kitchenette just left of the door and the bed/living area just beyond, a bathroom off to the right. The view is the best part – wall length windows on the far end of the apartment open to a sweeping vista of the citadel lights. Shepard is drawn to them first. She takes in the view with her hands on her hips, a silhouette against the blue light of the city.

“Can I get you anything? A drink, maybe?” Campbell asks from behind her. She hears the sound of a fridge opening and closing.

“I think I’ve had more than enough to drink for the night,” she says and turns slightly to hold out her hand. “Come here.”

He comes willingly, moving around the counter with a few quick strides until he’s close to her. There’s a brief period of hesitation before he puts his hand in hers, his expression uncertain. When he does, Shepard folds her fingers between his and pulls him to her side.

“Your view’s impressive, Tuck,” she says, turning back to the window. Campbell doesn’t take his eyes off her face.

“You think so?” he asks.

“Mm.” Shepard puts her free hand on the glass and then laughs lightly. “I grew up on a colony and spent most of my life since then on ships. Never gotten used to how beautiful cities can be, at night especially.” She steps closer to him, pulls his arm around her lower back and then lets go of it so that she can lean back against his chest. He freezes at first and then his hand wraps itself, tentatively, around her waist.

“Mindoir, right?” Campbell asks, his lips so close to her hair that she can feel his breath ghost across her ear. “I heard that’s where you were from, on the newsvids. Said you survived…what was it? A slaver attack there, too.”

Shepard tenses and lets out a huff masquerading as a short laugh. “That’s right,” she says, voice tight and then adds without quite knowing why, “Lost a lot of good people there too.”

“I’m sorry, Shepard,” says his voice against her ear, his hand tightening slightly on her waist.

She lifts one shoulder in a shrug and goes quiet.

“Damned reporters,” she says, a moment later. “Guess everyone knows everything about my personal life, now. Fuck.”

“Shepard…” he sounds apologetic. She turns, brushing her whole body against him as she does, and runs her hand up his arm to his cheek.

“Shut up and kiss me, Private,” she growls, and gives him half a second before she’s kissing him, lips hard and demanding until he bends his head forward and kisses her back.

It’s wet and awkward and Campbell doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands – he holds them out away from her body rather than touching her at first, as if he’s just shocked by the press of her lips against his. Then Shepard swipes her tongue against his bottom lip and he groans, one hand coming up to tangle in her hair. She slides her tongue into his mouth and then slides her hands down his shoulders, shedding his jacket. They break apart only when she shoves his chest hard enough for him to stumble backwards onto the bed.

He props himself up on his elbows as Shepard kicks off her boots and straddles him. Mouth open and brown eyes wide, Campbell doesn’t move.

"Shirt. Off.” Shepard says, tugging her own over her head and tossing it aside on the floor. He swallows and moves his hands obediently to the hem of his shirt, but by this point Shepard already has her hands there too. She peels it off him.

“Damn, Campbell, you’re pretty,” she says with a wicked grin. He has the usual six-pack of the fit Alliance soldier and more reddish-orange chest hair than she was expecting. She runs her fingers over it lightly.

“Thanks…I think,” he returns, smiling back slightly. Shepard notes the way his palms are flat on the mattress beside him.

“You’re allowed to touch me, you know.” She smirks.

“Yeah…all right,” he says. He touches her face, tentatively, then tips his head and brushes his thumb over the crescent-shaped scar on her cheek. “What’s this from?”

“Fuck, out of all the scars on my body you ask about the one on my cheek?” Shepard pauses in the process of taking down her hair and raises a brow. He shrugs.

“It’s kind of perfect, though,” he says, thumb still making slow brushes across the scar.

“Fine.” Shepard finishes pulling the pins out and her long brown hair spills down across her shoulders and back. “It’s from way back when the slavers hit. My oldest cousin, he – well, tried to give the rest of us a chance to run. I was the only one who made it back. This, though, this was nothing special.” She reaches up to touch the scar with her fingertips automatically, brushing his hand as she does. “I got stiff-armed by a branch trying to get back to my house. That was it.”

He covers the hand on her cheek with his hand and says, “I’m sorry.” Shepard frowns tartly.

“Do you know how many times you’ve said that tonight?” she asks, and he shrugs a little and shakes his head. “Too damn many.”

His brow creases. “Should I not?”

“You should not.” She bends over, brushes her lips against his.

“Whatever you want, Shepard,” he murmurs, pressing back into the kiss more eagerly this time.

“What I want is for you to be more naked,” she says against his lips. She moves her hands down to his belt and pulls back to arch an eyebrow at him. He sits up slightly and grins. 

“Your wish is my command,” Campbell says. He works off his shoes while she undoes his belt and his pants. She can feel him hard against her fingers as she slides his pants and his boxers off him, and then his cock is free. Shepard takes him in her hand experimentally, rubs her thumb against the head. When she looks up at him, he’s wide-eyed once again, gaze fixated on her. _Not me_ , she thinks. _My mouth_.

Shepard bends over and swipes her tongue down the length of his cock and Campbell shudders.

“Shit, Shepard,” he says, voice hoarse. She grins and bends down with every intention of taking him in her mouth when Campbell stops her with a hand in her hair. “Hey.” Shepard slides her blue eyes back to his face and he says, “You’re still pretty clothed yourself.”

Shepard pulls back and gives him a quizzical look. She chuckles, rubs her fingers over one of his nipples.

“Don’t ever change, Campbell,” she murmurs. “All right then.” Straightening, she reaches back and undoes the clasps on her bra. She’s rewarded with a sharp intake of breath on Campbell’s part as she tosses the bra aside. He reaches up and cups her breasts, this time without invitation, and Shepard studies the awed expression on his face with amusement. “Yes, I know. They’re a bit big for a Marine’s.” She wrinkles her nose. “Kind of a pain actually.”

“Are you kidding me?” he exclaims enthusiastically. “They’re perfect.” Shepard leans over and kisses him again, her hair falling curtain-like around her head.

“I’m flattered, honey, but try not to sound too much like a kid in a candy shop,” Shepard says. Campbell grins lopsidedly.

“Nope, not likely,” he says. Shepard laughs outright at this.

“So the kid has a sense of humor when you get him alone,” she says. She leans an elbow on bed beside his head and trails her fingers down his cheek and neck, kisses him on the adam’s apple and under the chin and on the cheek before pulling his bottom lip into her mouth and sucking at it gently. He squirms under her, hands moving to rub her nipples. She moans slightly around his mouth, letting go his lip, and he nudges his nose into her cheek and murmurs,

“You’re still not naked, Shepard.”

***

Shepard slips off the bed and strips off her pants, underwear, and socks quickly. She puts her hands on her hips and smirks at Campbell from the foot of the bed.

"There. Better?”

He sits forward with that crooked grin, says again, “Perfect.” He holds out his hand. “Come’ere.”

Shepard saunters back towards the bed, slipping her hand in his, and is surprised when he _tugs_ , grip stronger than she expected. She tumbles against him with a laugh.

“Easy, tiger,” she murmurs, taking the opportunity to drape herself across his chest. She tips her head back to look him in the eye, and he brushes the hair away from her face, his hand stroking from the back of her head to her right shoulder. His fingers stutter against the raised skin there, and he stops.

“What’s that?” he asks, turning her slightly so he can look at the back of her shoulder. Shepard makes a face and sweeps her hair out of the way over her opposite shoulder. The skin on the back of her neck, her right shoulder and down her back is rough, like a severe burn scar, but worse.

“Acid,” she says, holding her hair out of the way while his fingers run lightly over the area. “From the maws on…Akuze.”

“Jesus,” he says.

“They said they could fix me up, give me skin grafts to make it smooth again. Wouldn’t look perfect of course, but more…normal, I guess. I said no. So many damn dead, and then there’s me, and what do I got? An acid burn. Not gonna pretend like I wasn’t there. They lost their lives. Least I can do is carry the scar.”

Campbell doesn’t say anything to that, just presses a kiss to the angry skin on her shoulder, and turns her back around. He cups her cheek in his hand, touches his lips to hers, and kisses her with a kind of gentle insistence. Shepard closes her eyes, and his fingers slip down her throat to brush along her collarbone. The tenderness in his touch quickly becomes too much for her. She pulls back abruptly, breaking the kiss.

“Goddammit, Campbell,” she growls.

The private tips his head, big brown eyes confused. She shifts down so she’s straddling his hips, puts a hand on his shoulder and runs the other up his cock.

“Enough with the pleasantries already,” she says.

He raises a brow and scoffs quietly. “Anybody ever tell you you’re bossy, Shepard?”

“When you reach ‘Commander’, Private, that’s a luxury you too will enjoy,” she says, putting her hands on her hips.

“That so?” He reaches for her with a smirk, settles his hands on her waist. Shepard tips her chin up in the affirmative, her bright blue eyes glittering in the dark. “If you say so, ma’am,” he says cheekily before he flips her over.

He rolls off the bed and returns with a condom, which he tears open and rolls on quickly. He kisses her once more. Shepard nips at his lips, cups his ass and squeezes, and he chuckles. He pulls back, takes himself in hand and positions himself at her entrance. She hooks a hand around one knee and pulls it back. Campbell shifts to gentle mode again, pushing inside of her slowly. His thrusts are shallow, and he once again doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. Shepard groans in frustration.

“Fuck, Campbell, I’m a goddamn marine, not a grandmother.” She lets go of her knee to wrap her legs around his waist. She tugs one of his hands from the bed and puts it on her breast and then cants her hips against him, hard. “Fucking just fuck me already,” she growls.

He pinches her nipple. “Bossy,” he accuses, smirking. But he slides his hands under her ass and pulls her flush to him, pulls out nearly completely and then slams back in. He sets a relentless pace, and Shepard lifts her hips each time to meet him.

Campbell comes first with a shudder and a hoarse cry of her name. Shepard brushes his sweaty red hair away from his forehead and lets him ride it out before she shifts against him again and reaches down to touch her clit. He knocks her hand away when he figures out what she’s doing, rubs large fingers in quick circles against her. She squirms and moans; it takes several more minutes of stimulation before she clenches against his hand and comes with a groaned, “Fuuuck.”

He drops on the bed beside her with a sigh. Just when Shepard’s eyes are starting to drift closed, he leans over and brushes a kiss across her lips.

“You’re amazing, Shepard. You know that, right?”

She scritches her fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck and pulls him in for a better kiss, slipping her tongue inside his mouth. When she breaks the kiss, she sighs.

“You said, it, kid.”

***

By the time Shepard wakes, the sun would just be starting to come up were they planetside. Campbell is flat on his back, one hand thrown over his head, the other curled around one of her hands. Shepard pulls his hand to her mouth, kisses the back of it, and then lets go. She stands, gathers her clothes from the floor and dresses slowly, methodically, in the half dark. Finally she sits down on the edge of the bed, dipping the mattress slightly, to tie the laces on her boots. She walks to the door, careful as usual to make as little noise as possible. Her hand is reaching for the unlock control when she hears the redhead’s voice behind her, sounding almost plaintive.

“Shepard?”

She stops. “Go back to sleep, Campbell. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You’re leaving?” She hears the rustle of sheets and then sees him rise, silhouetted against the lights of the Citadel behind him. He takes a few steps towards her and the door, leans against the wall near the entrance to the kitchenette. “You don’t have to go.”

“You’re sweet,” Shepard says. “I know.”

“Can I see you again?”

Shepard squares her shoulders and steps close to him. She lifts his chin with her thumb and kisses him once more, her lips solid and warm but final. “Sorry, honey,” she says when she pulls back. “I don’t do do-overs.”

When she walks out his door, she doesn’t look back.

**Author's Note:**

> For more random headcanons about Caylina Shepard and other ocs, follow me on tumblr: thecryoftheseagulls.tumblr.com.


End file.
